Scapegoat
by DasMervin
Summary: Sands, at age seventeen, has business to attend to with his older sister's boyfriend.


**A/N: I've referenced the incident leading up to this several times in "Alpha" and in other asides involving Sands. By my fanon, Sands raped and impregnated his own older sister, who in turn killed herself. I've have mentioned once that her boyfriend wasn't in attendance of her funeral. This is why. Infinite thanks to Miss Becky for betaing.**

* * *

Zachary Johnson was reaching for the phone to call his girlfriend Theresa Sands when he finally met her little brother face to face. 

Theresa hadn't ever really talked about him before, and when she did she never went into detail. She'd also been quite active in making sure that he and Sheldon never met, waiting until he was out with friends before bringing Zack over to meet her parents and her two other sisters. Zack had been worried that, younger brother or not, he was going to have go through what all boyfriends did when it came to the sister's brother. She had assured him that this was not the case—Sheldon didn't care what she did. He'd been skeptical, and he thought he'd been proven right when he'd received a phone call after dating Theresa for four weeks.

"This Zack?" a pleasant voice had said.

"Yes—may I ask who this is?" he'd asked back. There'd been a chuckle.

"No, but I'm sure you'll know soon enough. Just remember, Zack—I know where you live now."

And then the phone had gone dead.

Zack had dismissed it—the voice on the line had sounded too young to be anything but a prank—but Theresa had found out the truth. It had been Sheldon, threatening him strictly for kicks. That had bothered him a little—that was a little more mean-spirited than the usual brother hazing methods, but what had really been disturbing was to find out that her brother often asked her, "Have you two fucked yet? No? Well, get a move on."

Zack never fucked Theresa—the most he'd ever gotten was a hand in her panties and a handjob. And that was as still as far as he'd gotten when some crazy person had kicked the door to his apartment in and had stood silhouetted with a gun in his hand.

"Zack Johnson?" His voice was harsh (but somewhat familiar). Zack froze, unsure what to do—if he said yes, that man might kill him. If he said nothing, that man might kill him. So, he took the middle road.

"Who wants to know?" he asked, trying to stay calm and slow his pounding heart. The intruder stepped into the light, and Zack was slightly jolted to see he was hardly a man—more like a kid, a teenager at best. Messy hair, dark, fierce eyes, skinny frame—hardly anything he would've considered able to break down his door with one kick.

"I'm looking for the man who killed my sister," he hissed. His eyes narrowed and he leered. "And I am pretty sure I found him."

Zack put up his hands, any success in calming himself down fleeing—he ought to know if he'd killed anybody's sister, and he knew for sure that he hadn't. "I think you have the wrong apartment, kid," he said shakily, keeping an eye on the weapon.

"Oh, trust me. I don't," the kid replied. "My sister is Theresa Sands."

"Sh-Sheldon?" he stuttered, before the full force of what he'd said sank in. _Killed my sister—what?_ "What do you mean, I killed your sister?" Zack said, cold stealing over him as Sheldon stalked into the room like a cat.

"I should shoot your balls off right now—to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else," Sheldon spat, suddenly taking aim at Zack's crotch. Zack shank back, going more into the corner.

"What's happened to Theresa? Tell me—I was going over to her place to check how she was, I haven't heard from her—"

"_She's dead_. Don't you understand a word I'm saying? Pain killers and alcohol, you motherfucker," Sheldon said, cutting him off before advancing further.

Numb shock wrapped its way around Zack's brain. _Theresa dead…killed herself…dead…Theresa dead…_ "You—you're lying," Zack mumbled, his knees giving out as he sank down to the floor. "You're just lying…I know you hate me, Theresa told me that you're the one who tried to scare me…it didn't work so you're trying this…it's a lie…" he babbled, looking up at Sheldon as he loomed over him.

"A lie?" Sheldon said, staring down at him with both his eyes and the barrel of his gun. "I wanted it to be a lie. My sister and I never got along well, but she's still my fucking _sister_, you asshole—here's the note she intended for _you_." He savagely threw a crumpled up piece of paper wrapped around a strip of plastic at Zack. He fumbled for it after it bounced painfully off of his head, and dropping what he recognized as a home-pregnancy test aside before reading the note. It was Theresa's handwriting; shaky, but hers.

_It's yours._

"What…?" he began weakly, and cried out when Sheldon kicked him in the legs.

"_It's yours! You fucked my sister and don't know the meaning of 'it's yours?!'_" he roared, whipping the gun through the air. Zack tried to dodge, but only managed to avoid getting hit across the jaw—instead, it thumped his shoulder and he howled in pain, his eyes watering.

"I never fucked your sister!" he shouted back, trying to get up—Sheldon's sneaker pushed him back down, and suddenly Zack was staring right into Sheldon's eyes—those black eyes, eyes like a shark's eyes. It was then that fear truly settled around him and drove any other feeling from him, because that's when it suddenly and fully hit him.

Sheldon Sands was going to kill him.

"Oh, so now you are saying my sister's a whore _and_ a liar, are you?" Sheldon whispered dangerously, the barrel of his .357 Magnum suddenly pointing directly between Zack's eyes. "First you knock her up, then you say she's a lying whore to try and take the blame off of yourself—and you say all of this _to my fuckin' face_. I see. And she always said you were so smart."

"I-I'm _not_ lying! We hadn't had sex yet! I—I don't know how she got pregnant!" Zack babbled, sweating despite the cold wrapping itself more and more firmly around him. The gun pressed harder against his forehead.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't the second coming, you little shit-splatter," Sheldon said, bearing down upon Zack. "And I _know_ you fucked her—she _said_ you did."

"Why…why would she…" Zack muttered incoherently to himself, wincing as the gun dug deeper into his flesh. Why would Theresa say that? And Theresa would never…she'd never _cheat_…

"I _didn't_," Zack whispered, trembling so badly he was making the gun shake. "I _wouldn't_…she wasn't _ready_ yet, I _wanted_ to, but she didn't…"

"What'd you do?" Sheldon asked harshly. "Get her drunk, perhaps? Got her good and drunk and then took advantage of her. She couldn't really fight back in that state—oh! I'll bet you waited for her to pass out, didn't you, you sick, disgusting cumbubble?" Zack choked when suddenly Sheldon's fingers were wrapped tightly around his throat. Sheldon's face was closer than ever, so close that Zack could finally see how very much Theresa's eyes were shaped like his, and how they had the same nose…

"I didn't—" he choked out, desperate to somehow convince Sheldon that he'd never had sex with her, that none of this was his fault; none of this made any _sense_…

"Let's play a little game," Sheldon whispered, ignoring him. Zack struggled for breath, the sudden and sinister shift in topic scaring him more than ever. "Now…my magnum has six chambers. Only three of them are loaded—alternating, of course. I spun the barrel before I came here. You know the name of this game, don't you?"

Zack nodded dumbly, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth, watching the way Sheldon's thin lips pulled back in a savage and sinister grin.

"One try is all you get—50/50 chance. Gun clicks, I suppose that gives you a fighting chance, doesn't it? Gives you the chance to try and run away like the cockroach you are before I fire again. Doesn't click…we all know where that goes. Sounds like fun, doesn't it, Zack?"

Zack moaned, unable to think of anything to say, anything to do.

Sheldon smiled. "I thought you'd think so." He kept the gun pressed against Zack's forehead and perched up on a chair, leaning over like some sort of vulture. Zack was numb, completely overcome with terror, he was about to be sick…Sheldon Sands was about to kill him—

"Here we go, Zack," Sheldon whispered, features sliding into an impassive, cold, and unsmiling stare as he thumbed the hammer back, the gun's mechanics clicking and sliding into place. Zack wanted to close his eyes but couldn't, shaking so badly his teeth were chattering; his breath was coming in whistling gasps; he was sweating so badly his shirt was sticking to him. He was suddenly aware of everything, aware of the excited way Sheldon was breathing, heard his own ticking watch, and he wanted to beg him not to do it, but he couldn't talk, and suddenly he heard Sheldon squeeze the trigger as if he was doing it in slow motion—!

A deafening _click_ echoed through the room.

Zack screamed hysterically, flinging himself away from Sheldon and kicking the chair the wiry teen had crouched upon as he did. He briefly saw Sheldon flail almost comically as he toppled backwards, and then he heard the kid's head crack against a table. Zack did not wait for him to try and get back up; scrambling to his feet, he ran as fast as he could, stumbling over his furniture. He wrenched his door open, snatched the keys off of the table, and ran to his truck, struggling to unlock the door. It took him a few tries to get the key right, and _God_, surely Sheldon was getting up, and he knew he wouldn't hear the shot that killed him, because victims never do…

He clamored into the driver's seat and he jammed his key into the ignition, nearly grinding the engine in his desperation. Kicking it into gear, he stepped on the gas, nearly stalling before lurching out of the parking lot and squealing onto the road. He barely heard the outraged honking of cars as he whipped out in front of traffic, narrowly avoiding hitting a sedan. Stomping again on the gas pedal, he haphazardly wiped at his tear- and sweat-drenched face, not daring to look back and see if Theresa's little brother had come flying out of his apartment with murder on his mind. And, even as he drove faster, he knew that, no matter what happened, he couldn't go back—he simply couldn't go back to his apartment, couldn't even stay in town. His parents…they were all he could go to now, because, no matter where he went in this town, surely Sheldon Sands would be waiting.

* * *

Sheldon finally came to an hour later. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and he let out a piteous groan when the pain in his head exploded into being. He managed to untangle himself and sit up carefully, becoming a little more alarmed by the nausea and dizziness that swept over him. Gingerly, he crept his fingers through his hair on the back of his head; he cursed quietly when they came back red. "Stupid fucker," he muttered before slowly looking around him. "Gun, gun, wherefore art thou, gun?" He finally located it under a table, and managed to crawl over and pull the gun out from under it, sweeping off the cobwebs that came with it. "Don't you ever vacuum?" he asked no one. He spun the empty barrel, watching the blank chambers rotate before deciding the motion was making him sick. He slid the gun back into his pocket and heaved himself unsteadily to his feet, pausing to work through the sharp pain in his knee. 

"That's absolutely no good," he sighed. Wobbling to the kitchenette, he opened the fridge and found a carton of milk. Then he rummaged through the freezer and put two handfuls of ice into two separate towels. Finally, he limped slowly back into the living room, milk in one hand and two ice packs dangling limply out of the other, and he lay down carefully onto the couch with his legs propped up onto its arm. He set one ice pack onto his knee and tucked the other one behind his head, gasping at the combined sensations of pain and relief that suddenly filled him. As he took a sip of his milk, he allowed himself a smile. He thought back on how Zack had blubbered and stuttered, insisting that he hadn't done it. He'd almost blown the entire act by laughing when he noticed that Zack had pissed himself. What a coward—he got pinned down by the barrel of a gun and had immediately given in to begging? It had reminded him fondly of how Theresa had screamed, the sound muffled against a pillow as he'd thrust inside of her, never before feeling so completely and utterly _powerful_, knowing that he was capable of something like that and knowing that he could actually get _away_ with it was even better.

"Sorry 'bout that, Zack," he said, voice filled with amusement and satisfaction. "Nice guys finish last."


End file.
